Re: The Man with the Small Castle

I have little doubt that most of the readers of this blog are disturbed by the recent output of Dr. Cox, and for good reason. So it appears as though “Big Daddy” Dickworth must restore this blog to respectability yet again.

To begin with, do not listen to the hacks that refereed my unassailable article on Cox’s homosexuality. As little Richard himself demonstrates on a weekly basis, the world of penis science is full of petty, backbiting cowards for whom peer review is merely a weapon to be wielded against those few of us who are capable of true innovation.

But of course, such unsupported and unwarranted attacks on my merits as a scientist have persisted throughout my career, always in one dubious form or another, whether it be claims of plagiarism, arrogance, or “clownish stupidity.” I was at first puzzled by this inexplicable and apparently inexhaustible hatred for me and my work as a penis scientist until Dr. Cox’s most recent article “The Man with the Small Castle: The Gorilla Penis.” Then it all came together: They are all jealous of my huge penis.

Of course I hate to have to say publicly that I have an absolutely enormous penis, but Cox has forced my hand with his libelous article, which may as well have been titled, “The Man with the Small Penis: Brody Dickworth.” I have, in the past, always been very discrete about my freakishly long and girthy penis, because I knew what the consequences would be in the petty and envious society of penis scientists. But now I realize my folly–penises are the business of penis scientists, and they must have known all along. Thus the hate, thus the humiliation, thus the lies. Yes, it leads them to lie and spread rumors among themselves that I actually have a small penis in order to make themselves feel better about themselves.

Well I will not be ashamed anymore! I will stand up proudly and tell the whole world, “I have dick like a Louisville Slugger and I am not ashamed!” You see, most dicks are cigarettes, mine is a Cuban cigar. Most dicks are withered saplings, mine is a majestic old-growth Redwood. Most dicks are Muggsy Bogues, mine is Charles Barkley. Most dicks are decadent Romans, mine is a conquering Visigoth–tall, sleek, heavily bearded, and sort of ruddy. Your dick is a letter opener, mine is a blood-stained broadsword that just cut a man’s head off at the shoulder.

Think about it: Why would I become a bodybuilder if I had a small dick? If this were the case then the moment which for most men is warmly anticipated and filled with excitement–that moment we “cigar men” all know about when she finally grabs your huge penis and flushes with happiness–would instead fill me with a building sense of shame and anxiety as it approached before it inevitably ended in yet another painful experience, punctuated by her cruel little smirks and the poorly thought out excuses as to why she’s suddenly changed her mind about having sex. Surely this is not a situation that I would seek to worsen by making my already comically small bulge appear all the more absurd for being attached to an unnaturally large frame. That is, if my bulge were comically small, instead of looking like a goddamn bowling ball being carried between my thighs.

On the other hand, I can see how such constant feminine humiliation, which stings worse precisely to the degree that it is gentle and therefore laced with pity, could, theoretically at least, drive a man to a society of other men. A noble society, perhaps, in which the only kind of largeness that concerns men is the kind that can be earned. A society that judges a man not on the size of his package, but on the content of his character–as revealed by the massive muscles he worked hard to build. This, I suspect, is indeed the motivation which has spawned many a builder, although certainly not me. Having a gargantuan set of genitalia that roughly resembles the head of a tuskless elephant wearing pumpkin earrings, I wouldn’t know.